


All Your Fault

by overrated_joe



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Gen, Horror, Post-Undertale Soulless Pacifist Route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-27 03:04:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10800372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overrated_joe/pseuds/overrated_joe
Summary: Exchanging your soul for a happy ending is never a good idea.Nobody is above the consequences.





	All Your Fault

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: as stated above, this work contains explicit violence and gore, and the protagonists are both children. If you're sensitive to this kind of material, be aware before proceeding your reading.

It started with small signs.

A twitch of the head. A glimpse of red eyes looking back from the mirror. A sinking feeling on the stomach every time they lifted a knife – even if for something as innocent as for eating dinner.

But Frisk ignored it – of course, there was nothing to worry about. Everyone had made it to the surface. Everyone was _happy_.

But it’s hard to pretend everything is alright when they wake up and find themselves unable to move.

A wicked, bone chilling laugh escapes from their throat. It’s low, but malicious, crazy, and it scares the hell out of the human child.

Specially considering the laugh comes from _within_ them, using _their_ voice.

“Did you really think I would forget our little promise, partner?”, asked Chara, sitting up on the bed, rotating their neck.

No. Not theirs. _Frisk’s_.

Frisk – the real Frisk – is too scared to have any kind of reaction, and just watches as their conscience is pushed away by... _something_. But they are still in their body. They are still conscious, still listening. They just don’t have any control – a prisoner within themselves.

But maybe they had never been in control in the first place.

Chara stands up. The feeling of their bare feet touching the cold floor is a sensation known to Frisk, but it had been so long since the first fallen child felt anything like it. They smile – Frisk’s lips turn into a smile – and they put their hands in front of their eyes, moving their fingers. They take a deep breath, the lingering scent of cinnamon-butterscotch pie filling their nose.

Ah, it was _good_ to be human. Or have the body of one, anyway.

Frisk wants to push them away. They want their body back. Chara can feel them fighting, and it is quite amusing.

“What’s the matter, partner?”, they say, taking careful steps towards the bedroom door. “Regretting your decisions, now? Well, you agreed to this, didn’t you?”

They touch the doorknob, and the cold metal send shivers through their body. It makes them feel strangely alive and aware – it’s exhilarating.

“Well, to be honest, saying _you_ agreed with this might be a little unfair of my part.”, comments Chara nonchalantly, opening the door and stepping out to the corridor. “But we’ve come so far, it doesn’t really matter anymore. Right, _Frisky-Frisk_?”

They start walking down the hallway, soon reaching the living room, and from there they make their way into the kitchen. They knew their way – Frisk had made it several times during those few months on the surface, and Chara had watched it silently from the background. While Frisk was unaware of the other’s presence, they were actually just laying low, studying the best approach. The best time to strike.

And that time had finally come.

Frisk fights back. They are determined, after all. They want their body back, and they _will_ take it back.

But Chara is just as determined. They want their new body, and they _will_ keep their new body. They will make them see that nobody – _absolutely nobody_ – is above the consequences.

They are trying to walk forward, but their leg stops mid act, and they almost lose balance. Suddenly, it’s difficult to move. Two wills fighting for the control of a single body – in a sense, it’s no different from playing a game of tug-of-war, like both children had played so many times in the past, in different circumstances.

“Oh, c’mon, Frisk...”, Chara mumbles. “You don’t need to make things harder than they already are!”

They give a step forward, then another. They are already in the kitchen, and they are making their way to the counter. It’s difficult – but one step at a time, they know they can make it.

“You don’t even have to do anything...”, says Chara, their voice innocent and sweet, which doesn’t exactly match the wicked smile plastered across their face – or Frisk’s. “You just need to sit back and _I’ll_ do the dirty work. And we’ve done this before! I don’t understand why you’re so scared...”

Suddenly, Frisk slaps them – their arm flow in the direction of their face and smack it with a crude, raw sound. They feel the pain. Maybe the other child feels it too, but they are a bit too shocked to notice – they had been so concentrated on moving forward their arms became vulnerable for Frisk to take back control.

They stop for a moment, the body trembling as Frisk and Chara fight for it.

However, it’s already a lost battle. Frisk is a very determined child, but Chara had waited for that opportunity for far too long to just let them win.

They give careful, yet decisive steps forward, until they are in front of the kitchen counter.

They open a certain drawer.

“Frisk, Frisk, Frisk...”, Chara hums. “I’m _so_ disappointed. You almost got me there, but haven’t you learned it by now? I _always_ win. Now, I think a lesson for you would be most appropriate.”

And, to Frisk’s horror, they pick up a big kitchen knife – the type Toriel used for cutting vegetables, though Chara has a different use for it in mind.

They want to fight, but now Chara has permanently shut Frisk out. When they lift their hand holding the knife to their eyes’ height, Frisk’s influence on the body makes it tremble a little. Or maybe it’s just Chara trembling with excitement. Most likely, it was both. 

“How does it feel to hold a knife like this again, partner?”, asks Chara, and they are legitimately curious.

But Frisk can’t answer – of course not. Oh well, you can’t get everything you want in life, it seems.

Chara then slowly turns the knife around, until it’s tip is facing their right eye. Frisk starts to panic – they are fighting more than ever to take control back.

It doesn’t work.

“It’s beens so long since I felt real, sharp, physical _pain_ , Frisk.”, comments Chara in a relaxed manner, her eye staring at the tip of the knife. “I wonder if it’s now shared between us, or if we both feel the full pain. Not that it matters to you, because you won’t like it anyway.”

They slowly bring the knife towards their eye.

Frisk wants to scream and to hold back – if anything, that only makes the hand bringing the knife closer tremble a little more. Chara smiles when the tip of the knife touches the iris.

And then, with a sudden thrust, they introduce the beginning portion of the knife into their eye.

Their vision turns bloody red. Their heart races. Their brain feels like it’s going to explode. For Chara, it is liberating to feel the blood coming out from their eye sockets – so much in fact they begin twisting and turning the knife, squishing the eyeball into a red, fleshy mess.

But for Frisk, it feels like hell. Suddenly, they can’t hear anything – they become so engrossed with the pain in their eye they don’t even notice they are screaming – a raw, terror-inflicted shriek. A desperate call for help.

And this time.

Someone came.

“Frisk? Child?”, says Toriel, turning the lights from the kitchen on. It takes her a full second to understand what she is seeing. “O-oh my god! _Frisk_! What..!?”

Chara pulls the knife out of their eye – tiny little blood-drenched eye parts fall to the ground, staining the once perfectly clean kitchen floor. They smile.

Frisk feels tired.

They look up, and Toriel is standing there, horrified, her paws over her mouth, silent tears scrolling down her face. She takes some steps back as Chara brandishes the knife and let out a weak laugh.

There won’t be any mercy this time around.

...

...

...

...

...

...

“This is all _your_ fault.” 


End file.
